


You

by BeautifulTendencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulTendencies/pseuds/BeautifulTendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after peace came, Harry receives a visit from Ron and Malfoy. Rated T only for swearing and the references to PTSD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Guest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Guest](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/138108) by Albert Camus. 



> PLEASE READ!!!
> 
> Harry has PTSD.
> 
> 1) Please don't read it if it will trigger you.  
> 2) If anyone who is knowledgeable about PTSD finds an inaccuracy, please correct me.
> 
> Oh, and I suppose I should say this, shouldn't I (though it really is obvious)  
> I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS  
> OR REALLY ANYTHING

Harry was watching the two men climb toward him, both on foot. They had not yet tackled the abrupt rise leading to his house built on a hillside. They were breathing hard, making slow progress in the tall grass on the high, deserted plateau. From time to time, they stumbled. It was clear that they did not know the region, they stumbled along parallel to the small path hidden almost entirely by the wild plants. Harry estimated that it would take them thirty minutes to reach the base of the hill. He went inside to make tea.

He crossed his living room, making his way to the kitchen of his small cottage. It was decorated sparsely, though richly. Harry was rich, after all. Being a hero paid well, and he still had his mother’s and father’s fortune. If he had wanted to, he could have lived in extreme extravagance, in a mansion somewhere beautiful. But he didn’t, and it wasn’t entirely to get away from pesky reporters that loved to shove their noses in his business whenever they got the chance, though that was a bonus. Ever since the war, he had prefered to be alone with his thoughts. He had slowly distenced himself from all his relations. Both his secluded place of living and job at Hogwarts as the DADA professor worked in discouraging visitors, though his friends still dropped by occasionally. He hadn’t always been a professor. He had become an auror, like he had dreamed when he was younger, but, well. PTSD could be a bitch.

Having put the kettle on and set the table, Harry returned to the window from which he had first seen the two men.They were no longer visible. They must have started up the hill. The rainy cover of clouds only lifted from the sky now, the sun’s watery yellow light blanketing the area. At two in the afternoon it looked as if the day were only just beginning. But this was still better than those three days when summer storms had pounded on the roof and bashed at the windows. Then Harry had spent long hours in his room, leaving it only to tend to his basic necessities and fix the occasional leak that had worked it’s way through.

He had stocked up well a while back, the way he always did to limit his visits to the world that was not Hogwarts or his home. Reminders of the War even years after the final battle had taken place were everywhere. A forgotten building, crumbling to dust. A clearing in which nothing would grow for fear of the past events that had occurred in it. Harry would rather forget the entire ordeal had happened. Only here, where there was no one and nothing to remind him of anything did Harry feel safe.

He stepped out onto the terrace of his house, the two men were now halfway up the slope. One was easily identifiable, he would know that red hair anywhere. The other was being lead with his hands magically bound together, his platinum head lowered. Ron waved a greeting to which Harry did not reply, lost as he was in contemplation of the blonde. He was dressed in unremarkable robes, though he wore them the way one might wear the finest silk, even with his head bowed. There was only one person that Harry knew of that could pull off looking so regal while being whacked in the face continually with tall grass.

Within earshot, Ron shouted, grinning tiredly: “Hey mate!” Harry did not answer. In his simple robes he watched them climb. Not once had Malfoy raised his head. “Hello,” said Harry when they got up onto the terrace. “Come in and sit down.” Ron smiled at Harry from under his long bangs. His blue eyes, set under a freckled forehead, and his mouth surrounded by the faint beginnings of laugh lines, made him look friendly and expressive, both of which Harry knew to be true. Harry lead them into his living room, gesturing towards the couch and chairs, where three places were set. “Settle in, I’ll fetch the tea.” When he entered the room again, Ron was on the couch. Malfoy sat stiffly in one of the chairs, his still bound wrists folded neatly in his lap, looking out the nearby window. His thin lips were carefully neutral in expression, his aristocratic nose and cheekbones only adding to the illusion of calm indifference. Only his silver eyes, lively and dark, shattered the image. “Thanks,” Ron said as Harry passed him the teapot he had collected from the kitchen. “What a chore! I become an auror to do some good and battle some Death Eaters, and they send me after this ferret. He didn’t even fight when we found him!” Ron passed the teapot back to Harry, who filled his cup and Malfoy’s. When he held out a glass of tea to the prisoner, Harry hesitated at the sight of his still restrained hands. “He might perhaps be unbound.” “Sure,” said Ron. “He won’t be able to do much damage without a wand, and it’s unlikely he will get far if he tries to run from here. That was for the trip.” He started to get to his feet. But Harry, setting the glass on the floor, had knelt beside Malfoy, pulling his wand from his pocket. Without saying anything, Malfoy watched him with feverish eyes. Once his hands were free, he rubbed his stiff wrists together, took the glass of tea, and began to drink it with poise that had apparently remained undamaged through his ordeal. 

“Harry, mate. I know you’re on vacation and all, but would you mind finishing taking this bloody bastard to the Ministry? Hermione’s due any day now, and it’s not far. He’s supposed to be there tomorrow morning.” “I guess,” Harry answered simply. “Thanks, mate. I knew I could count on you!” Ron slapped his shoulder. Harry flinched, though it was clear the redhead hadn’t noticed. Quicksilver eyes had, though the pale pink lips belonging to the same face did not stir. In an earlier time, he had no doubt that he would have been mocked for that. But then, in an earlier time, he would not have flinched. He supposed they had both changed quite a bit.

Ron stayed and chatted a while, until the tea ran out, then bid a quick goodbye and stepped outside his wards to apparate out.

Harry cleared the table and transfigured the couch into a bed for Malfoy to sleep on. “Potter,” Malfoy eventually said quietly. “Yes?” “Thank you.” “For what?” “For not treating me like I’m a piece of shit you stepped in.” Harry hesitated. The Malfoy he had known would have never thanked anyone, much less his rival, unless he was under death threat. He thought perhaps he was. He was not up to date on what punishment awaited Malfoy for his crimes. “Good night, Malfoy,” he finally said instead.


	2. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighhhhhh*
> 
> I'm putting chapters 2 & 3 together because thats the way I originally wanted it

Harry turned over again on his bed, listening to the silence. It was the same silence that had seemed so painful to him after the war. But it had been better than being an Auror, the constant reminder of everything that had happened pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe, forgot where he was, that it was over, for the most part. He still had nightmares, but not as many now, and not here, usually. The landscape being completely different really helped. It hurt to be at Hogwarts. He would sometimes pass a corridor and be hit with a barrage of memories of watching people die, the terror and suffering that had happened there. He still couldn’t go into the Astronomy Tower or the Dark Forest at all. But Hogwarts was also a fast paced place, and he could throw himself into his work to forget.

Eventually, he gave up trying to sleep and went to check on his guest. He had heard nothing from the front room all night and was amazed at the unmixed joy he felt when he considered the possibility that Malfoy had fled and he would not have to go back to the Ministry. But he was there, gray eyes open and staring unseeingly at the ceiling, petal pink lips parted.

“Malfoy.” Harry said softly. His prisoner started slightly before sitting up to look at him. “Are you hungry? I’m getting a snack.” He was quiet for a moment. “Alright.” Harry lead him into the dining room and set the table for two before getting started on scrambled eggs. For everything, he still didn’t really know how to cook. When the eggs were done, he dished them out, and told Malfoy, “Eat.”

He took up a forkful of eggs but froze when it was halfway up to his mouth. “You would eat with your enemy?” “I’m hungry,” Harry said tiredly. Malfoy snorted. He hesitated for a second more before determinedly putting the eggs in his mouth. They ate in silence until they were finished. When Harry got up to do the dishes, Malfoy rose with him. Harry raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not say anything. As they washed and dried the dishes, he found himself looking into Malfoy’s face, trying to see the self-assured prick that had bothered him for half his life, and found nothing. All he saw were dark eyes shining with something akin to what he saw when he looked into his own eyes in the mirror. He turned away and they finished the dishes in understanding quiet.

“Why did you run?” The accusing tone in his own voice surprised him. Malfoy looked away. “My family had long fallen out with those in power.” He raised his eyes again to Harry’s. “I could only prolong the inevitable. Now what will they do with me, I wonder.” “Are you afraid?” He stiffened, turned away once more. “Are you sorry?” He didn’t answer the question, but asked instead, “Will the Weasel be coming back for me?” “I don’t know. Probably not. Why?” “Are you taking me the rest of the way, then?” “Maybe. Why?” Malfoy began walking back to his transfigured bed. “Why?” Harry repeated. He looked back at him. “Come with me. Please.”

~*~

During the night the wind increased. Harry could hear it outside, whipping against itself before settling down a little. He tried to hear Malfoy’s breathing and found that he could, the house being more quiet than the tomb it was for his unruly soul. In this house sleeping alone for years, another presence bothered him. But it also bothered him by imposing on him a sort of connection he refused to accept at the moment. Those who had experienced the worst atrocities of the war and not been able to put themselves back together again had the same look, the same feel, of those fractured. An ancient comradery bound them; that of similar experience and troubles. But Harry shook himself; he didn’t like such musings and it was essential to sleep.

A little later however, when he heard a stir in Malfoy’s breathing, Harry was still not asleep. When his prisoner made a second move, he stiffened, on the alert. He did not move, save to clutch at his wand under his covers. It was better to act all at once. He heard footsteps, light and near-silent, but the man they belonged to did not appear in his doorway. For a moment he thought that Malfoy would run away, and thought “Good riddance!”, despite the small pang of disappointment lodged in his chest. But the latch on the front door did not move. Instead, all Harry heard was water running from the kitchen tap. He then heard those same light footsteps quietly return to the front room. Harry rolled over and wiped at his forehead. cursed himself, and fell asleep. All night his dreams consisted of swift footsteps, petal pink lips, fierce but sad silver eyes.

Malfoy was still asleep when he had finished his shower, sprawled on blankets with his mouth open looking utterly relaxed. But when Harry shook him, he awoke suddenly, wild eyes as if he had never seen him, and such a frightened expression that Harry flinched. He dropped to his knees and grabbed Malfoy’s forearms. “Malfoy, it’s ok! It’s ok! It’s only me.” His breath still came in big gasping heaves, but Harry saw the recognition in his eyes. “Harry?” “Yes, yes. It’s ok.” Malfoy’s head fell forward and rested on Harry’s shoulder. “You should eat,” Harry said. He felt a small nod against his neck before the pressure disappeared and Malfoy stood up, reaching a hand down to help Harry. He found himself missing the touch. 

Nothing was said between them for a long time after, but it was a comfortable silence. They still hadn’t spoken after breakfast. As he was binding Malfoy’s hands again though, he said, “You could run you know. I wouldn’t stop you.” Mafoy closed his eyes and gave a tired smile. “I can’t.” Harry twisted his lips around in an approximation of a smile. “I know.” Malfoy opened one eye and stared sideways at Harry, a more genuine smile tugging at his lips, “Why’d you ask then?” And then they were both laughing, at everything and nothing, and there were tears prickling in their eyes because it wasn’t funny, it really wasn’t. But they were still laughing as they made their way out the door and just past Harry’s wards, even as the tears spilled over and down their faces. They finally stopped laughing as they reached the apparition site, and wet marks on their cheeks were all that was left.

The rest of the handoff went smoothly, and Harry smiled a little at the proud stalk Malfoy had worked up as he was lead by a short balding man, looking like he was going to a throne room to be crowned rather than a courtroom. His smile vanished just as suddenly as the flash of green appeared, and the world burned down in chaos. It was only later, safe inside his home, that Harry allowed himself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not happy with the end but oh well
> 
> constructive criticism appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my work. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Or, you know. If you want to rag on it, I guess that's fine too. Just don't expect me to care.


End file.
